


Birthday Kids

by Ram92



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Adult Hargreeves, Birthday, But I don't think they will, Gen, I haven't really planned it through, Not too much, Pre-Season/Series 01, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, The Hargreeves first, Warnings May Change, but not just them, dedicated to all the birthday kids of this lockdown, everybody needs a hug, kinda depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ram92/pseuds/Ram92
Summary: "That must have been weird.""You have no idea. No birthday boy, no birthday girl, just birthday kids. I mean, can you imagine sharing your birthday with six world-famous assholes all know they're better than you?"- 'Feels like Heaven' in the background -Sharing your birthday as a kid must be hard. But not sharing it with anyone as a grown-up kinda feels worse.
Relationships: The Hargreeves Family
Comments: 29
Kudos: 67





	1. Number One - Luther

He was staring at the ceiling as the first lights of the dawn began to filter in. It hit the airplane hanging in the middle of the room and the framed posters of the moon he loved so much as a kid, it slowly lit up the peacock blue of the walls... ‘peacock blue’, Jesus, even those were Allison’s words... He rolled on his side and looked away. He had lingered enough, it was morning already.

It was time to get it started.

In the kitchen Mom was waiting for him with her usual smile, even broader than usual if possible. On her perfect blonde hair, a shockingly pink paper hat was fixed with some hairpins.

<< Here’s a special breakfast for the special day of our most special boys and girls! >> she announced, as a huge chocolate cake made its appearance on the table.

It was big, it had every possible decoration on it, it had seven slices. That had always been the ritual.

Chocolate for Luther, cinnamon for Diego, a sparkle of glitters for Allison, whipped cream for Klaus, marshmallows all around for Five – even though he had never officially asked for it –, jam filling for Ben and a strawberry on every slice for Vanya.

He still remembered the day they had devised the thing. It had been their pride at first, then their joy on a day otherwise just filled with the regular tasks and exercises. Now it was just sad.

A huge campy cake for just one grown-up man. Alone.

<< Happy birthday, master Luther. >> the voice of Pogo awoke him from his little reverie. << Happy birthday, my dear boy. >>

Only then he noticed the strained smile of Mom still offering him his paper hat – blue of course – and took it from her hands.

Pogo slowly made his way in the room and came sitting in the chair next to his – not the one that used to be Klaus’s, no, the other one, on Dad’s side. Luther was still staring at the hat, as Mom dished his slice of cake right in front of him.

<< I think that even if you don’t wear it, Grace will understand. >> the chimpanzee said in a reassuring tone.

<< Of course, a grown man has to do what he feels he should do. >> she twitted promptly. << Especially on his special day. >>

And with another bright smile, she turned back to the stove.

Luther clumsily sat down in the little chair. This new body of his was still giving him trouble, after all those months.

<< Thanks. >> he muttered.

The hat was still in hands laid in his lap.

<< Grace, may I please ask for a slice of cake? >> asked Pogo. << I am sure Luther wouldn’t mind share this one time. >>

Luther mindlessly nodded his assent and a second dish appeared on the table next to his.

It felt weird. To sit in a chair that felt so small before a table that felt so large, so empty. It felt wrong.

<< Master Hargreeves would like to receive you in his office after breakfast. >> said Pogo, plunging his fork in the fluffy dough.

Luther’s face lit up for a moment.

<< A mission? >>

Pogo stiffened his lips imperceptibly.

<< I think it’s more like a present, my dear boy. >>

<< Oh. >> a frown appeared on his face. << I thought Dad disapproved the present-giving thing. >>

Pogo chewed and swallowed slowly.

<<Your father has wisdom enough to contemplate exceptions. >>

Luther looked at him blankly.

A couple of hours later he was getting ready.

Pogo had been wrong. Dad still didn’t approve ‘such nonsense’ as a gift. He had something better than that.

His eyes raised on the framed poster on the wall and his lips smiled like they hadn’t in years. He had given him a mission, the most important of all.

He had given him the Moon.


	2. Number Seven – Vanya

Dear diary,

Today’s my birthday. One year ago we were all having breakfast in the kitchen with the birthday cake. Seven slices, five for us, two for the missing. This year also mine and Diego’s will stay on the plate.

Nobody called, and I called no one. I don’t think I will.

My flatmates don’t know. We barely know each other, so far. It’s a bit too soon to share, maybe.

This first month in the Conservatoire has felt... a bit lonely, in a way, but not too bad. Being five per flat seems a lot to the others, but clearly they don’t have a clue. Everyone seems very careful and respectful in the common spaces. That’s nice. And everybody agreed on a sort of curfew for practicing, not too early in the morning, not too late at night. It works.

Today’s my birthday, and for the first time I’m alone. The only birthday girl, with no competition. No white paper hat, no strawberries on my cake. I probably should tell the others. We might go out, maybe have something to drink, a toast in my name...

Or maybe they wouldn’t bother. After all, I’m nothing special to them. I’m just the flatmate that plays the violin. They barely know me.

This morning I saw a picture of Allison on the cover of a magazine in the newsstand by the entrance of the campus. She seemed glorious. I don’t know what she’s up to these days, I didn’t buy it.

Nobody seems to have made the connection between my surname and theirs, for the moment. Why should they? Nobody knows about Number Seven, and the school was kind enough to accept calling me ‘Vanya’ in class, despite what’s written on my official ID.

Anyway, today’s my birthday. Just mine. Just me. And I don’t know what to do with it.

I didn’t think it through.

Maybe I won’t do anything, I’ll just wait for next year. So that I could see what regular people do for their birthdays, and then do the same. There must be some perks in being ordinary, after all.

Today I think I’ll just practice a bit. The competition is crazy, and I struggle to keep up. I sometimes wonder if Dad bribed someone to let me in. You know, to get me away from the Academy. I guess I’ll never know.

Anyway, happy special day of our most special boys and girls, as Mom would say.

Happy birthday to me.

Vanya


	3. Number Four – Klaus (& Ben)

<< Congratulations, Klaus. >> said the nurse going through his stuff. << It’s the first, you made it. >>

<< Yeeeh. >> Klaus gleefully flipped his hands in a little dance in return.

He checked the pockets of the coat, and mechanically emptied their content. Then moved to the documents.

<< And here it says... >> he frowned a little and checked again. << ...it says it’s your birthday. >>

Klaus’s hands ran now to cover his mouth in a parade of pure shock.

<< Oh, is it? >> he asked looking alarmed and getting closer to the nurse’s window with a conspiring air. << Please don’t tell the boys, I didn’t invite anyone to the party. >>

The nurse looked down on him with a stern look, to which Klaus replied with a sweet battering of eyelashes. Then he snorted half a laugh and handed him his stuff shaking his head.

<< Just don’t party too hard, alright? >>

Klaus mouthed a ‘me’ that felt high-pitched even with no sound and put on an innocent pout before turning around, towards his regained freedom.

<< I don’t want to see your stupid face ever again, am I clear? >> he heard the nurse shouting down the corridor.

Klaus’s smile grew a little deeper, then he stepped out of the door. The light blinded him for a second.

<< So what do you wanna do, birthday boy? >> he asked wincing and letting the sun shine on his bare belly button. << Waffles? Cake? Should we get down to Griddy's Donuts like the old times? They’ve got jelly enough, I seem to remember. >>

<< It was jam. >> Ben lowered his emo black hoodie and started walking beside him. << Not jelly. >>

Klaus snorted with a horseish sound.

<< And you still don’t have a place to go. >> the ghost reminded him flatly. << Maybe we could fix that first. >>

<< Nonsense! >> Klaus blurted out, to the amazement of some passers-by. << Celebration first, mere survival later. >>

He was walking in the fainting October sun, the wind gently blowing in his clean for once hair, he felt great.

<< That sounds like your motto, doesn’t it? >>

If only he didn’t have his dead brother there to drag him down.

<< Oh, come on Benny, I’ve been a good boy, I managed to get out for our birthday, just like I promised, didn’t I? >> he pleaded, making eyes at what everybody else thought was just thin air. << Don’t you think I deserve a little reward? >>

Ben looked at him with growing suspicion.

<< We’re still talking about jelly donuts, right? >>

The weird boy came again. He always did. Every year. He scared some of the clients, but Agnes didn’t have the heart to send him away. To be honest, she was sort of glad that he made it. She didn’t know much about that stuff, but sometimes he left behind some yellow chips or those plastic bands they had to wore as a bracelet. Just like new-born babies. Only, it bore the name of a rehab centre.

<< So, what will it be? >>

The boy beamed a childish smile as his finger went down the menu.

<< Would it be possible to have a Chocolaty Claire with whipped cream on top? >>

Agnes suppressed a smile herself and went on with the old act once again.

<< Sure. >> she said scribbling the same order down. << And for your friend? >>

The boy stared for a second at the void on the other side of his table, and then got back at her.

<< Strawberry special, he says. >>

A fat redhead woman sitting by the counter with a knitted hat on her head and a little skinny kid by her side looked puzzled at her when she brought back two different plates from the kitchen, each with a pastry and a little candle on top. Purple for the boy, green for his invisible friend.

The boy gave a joyous little applause, delighted by the sight of the abundance of whipped cream.

She carefully laid the dishes on the table and lit up the candles.

<< Happy birthday, boys. >> she said, smiling at the empty chair.

When they brought him in the hospital that night, they told him, he had whipped cream on his face.

He shook his head and took the form to fill. It was just a formality, just because they had found the chip in his pocket and the bracelet on his wrist. But nobody really blamed it on them. Everybody knew that Klaus was a lost cause.

He signed and inserted the date. The tip of his pen lingered for a second.

<< I told you not to party too hard. >>

_Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers._

_Tennessee Williams_


	4. Number Two – Diego

That was a bad idea. He realized that the minute he stopped the car. His fingers were still holding the key, just a little pressure of his thumb and he could have gone anywhere he wanted to be rather than there. Anywhere else.

<< Damn you, Eudora Patch. >> he muttered to himself.

A moment later he was out of the car, mindlessly avoiding to get hit as he crossed the street. It would have been embarrassing. He could imagine Allison's eyebrow judging him above his bed in the infirmary. No, not imagine, he could _remember_ it. The pain itself had never been the biggest issue.

He scrambled nervously his set of keys and stuck the right one in the door. It felt like the whole building was looking down on him. And it looked a bit like him, now. Stern and cold. Just like Dad.

He rushed in.

<< Mom? >>

An odd feeling hit him and there he stood, confused. Everything seemed the same, like frozen in time, like an old photo. Some familiar scent hovered in the air. But there was... there was something different.

Diego kicked his legs in a step on, feeling nervous.

<< Luther? >> he called, in the semi-darkness, and after a while... << Dad? >>

<< Master Luther is on a mission. >> said a voice from the living room. << Your father is rather busy at the moment and as for master Klaus, God only knows what he might be at by this time. This would be a great time to sneak into the kitchen without being noticed. >>

There was a lamp on by the couch, and an unmistakable silhouette sitting next to it.

Diego felt something unknot inside his stomach.

<< Pogo... >>

The chimpanzee put down his newspaper and his glasses to smile gently at the young man lingering by the doorway.

<< Welcome home, master Diego. >>

It was the silence, Diego realized. That was different. The house had never been this silent. No sound of quarrels or violins playing in the distance.

<< I read on the papers of a mysterious vigilante operating in the night-time, defending the city against crime with, as they called it, ‘miracle knives’. >> said Pogo, putting on his glasses again. << Do you happen to know anything about that? >>

<< Nah. >> Diego sneered. << At the Academy they don’t approve stuff like that. >>

The way he avoided to clarify which academy he was talking about sounded forcibly casual, Pogo couldn’t help noticing. The boy hadn’t changed a bit.

<< I see. >>

<< Mom? >> he called again, peering into the kitchen.

The room was empty, but before he could move on something caught his eye. Now he remembered, that scent that he had smelled in the hall.

The old big chocolate cake was resting on the table.

He couldn’t help a faint smile open up on his face. He had forgotten about that.

Of the seven slices, only one was missing. Another one was in a second dish, all nibbled and reduced to crumbles. A third one laid untouched right next to it.

<< You kids, always leaving behind such a mess. >> twitted a familiar voice behind him.

Diego smiled, as a couple of high heels walked ticking past him and a figure in a large, pink skirt appeared in his range of view.

<< Hello, Mom. >>

Her perfectly white smile was almost blinding, framed in her perfectly red lips.

<< Happy birthday, Diego. >> she said, and her head tilted a little as she lingered just a second longer.

Who taught her this?, Diego found himself wondering once again, How can this be a robot?

<< Come, sit, dear. >> she twitted on, her head upright again. << You haven’t had your piece of cake yet. >>

Oh, shit, he hadn’t thought of that.

<< No, Mom, I don’t think... >> he tried to resist feebly, the well too vivid memory of a certain curve under his tight leather shirt gripped inside his brain. << I’m trying to cut some weight and... >>

A glance at her standing with an empty dish and a spatula in her hand, the brightness of her smile just slightly dimmed out, and the battle was lost.

<< Oh, what the hell... >> he gave up. << Okay, just a slice. >>

<< Now now, no need to use such language. >> she scolded melodiously, but her smile had lit up again.

A huge brown slice was dished just in front of him, as he awkwardly sat in his old chair, just next to Klaus’s half nibbled leftovers. Its scent delicately tinged with cinnamon hit his nostrils and reached up to his brain, lighting up a twirl of old memories. Of Klaus spraying extra cream on his already white covered slice, of Five giving up his strawberry to Vanya with a condescending shrug, of Luther and Allison wishing happy birthday to each other with a smile that everybody noticed, of Ben cutting his slice open in the middle just to see the red jam dripping over... spilling all over...

His arm twitched and he found himself clenching the knife in his hand.

<< Is everything alright? >>

Mom was looking at him, her smile vanished completely, her eyes opened a bit too wide, worried.

<< Y-yeah, I’m... I’m f-... >> he steadied his breath and pictured the word in his mind. << I’m okay. >>

Mom’s cheek tugged faintly in a worried smirk.

He realized he was still holding the knife, and let go.

<< Mom, I just realized, I can’t, I really can’t... >> he blabbered, then the image of Patch came to him like a lifeline. << I’m supposed to have dinner with someone. >>

Mom’s features relaxed once again in a knowing expression, and Diego felt better himself.

<< Is this someone a girl? >> she chanted with a mischievous smile.

He hadn’t seen this coming.

<< M-mom... >> he flushed into an impressive shade of red.

<< Or a boy, that wouldn’t be a problem, you know... >>

The red turned to crimson.

<< Mom! >>

Then he heard something he had never heard. Mom was laughing. Well, it was little more than a chuckle, a sort of sweet gurgling sound, but she had never... he couldn’t remember...

He was staring at her, all his embarrassment gone.

<< Now now, it’s getting late. >> she said next, recomposing herself. << It is rude to make somebody wait for dinner. >>

<< Well, there’s no need... It’s not like we had anything special in mind, I... >>

But Mom’s gaze had gone back to the big cake at the centre of the empty table, and Diego clearly saw the shadow of a thought crossing her mind.

<< Do you think your friend would like some cake? >> she asked a bit too nonchalantly. << It’s such a pity that it should always go to waste. I’m sure your siblings wouldn’t mind... >>

<< So much for your diet. >>

Patch’s face trotted into the little kitchen, a grin hardly conceived on her weary face.

Diego took the spoon out of his mouth and tried to chew the huge chunk of dough he had just put in it.

<< Shut up. >> he somehow managed to spout.

<< What happened? >> she asked scooping next to him on the bench. << Did you just find it on your way home or you’re officially giving up on spandex? >>

<< It’s leather. >> he grumbled.

Patch snorted mockingly and took the spoon from his mouth.

Diego looked at her as she took a chunk of reasonable size and brought it to her mouth.

The smell of cinnamon and chocolate felt somehow warmer as it hovered around her. She met his gaze and sort of smiled, munching happily, a hint of a question mark on her face and a pinch of cream hanging at the corner of her lips.

Mom would be happy to see this, he thought. This is how people are supposed to look when eating a cake like this. He was pretty sure they had, at first. He wondered when they had stopped.

<< It’s for my birthday. >> he said. << It’s from my mom. >>


	5. Number Three - Allison

With her eyes still closed, she patted the bed by her side in search of a birthday morning hug. Her eyes cracked open with disappointment.

<< Patrick? >> she called.

She got up and looked around.

The light of late morning filtered through the white curtains draping the window, shining over the framed poster of her first film and her dressing table beneath it, her reflection in the mirror looking back at her, alone in the gigantic bed full of fluffy pillows. She had probably overslept. Seventeen years of strict sleeping timetable routine gone out of the window the moment Claire decided night wasn’t fun enough if you didn’t wail half of the time. Thank God she knew how to stop it. She smiled to herself, cradling her little secret. She was pretty sure Patrick wouldn’t approve. But where was he now?

She put her fluffy slippers and her dressing gown on and moved yawning to the stairs.

Suspect giggles came from the kitchen, followed by a shushing sound.

She opened the door.

<< Happy special day to our most special Mom and wife! >> the two voices bursted into a choir.

A little spray of pink confetti popped cheerfully, and Claire laughed trying to catch some before they reached the floor.

Allison was speechless, an incredulous smile stuck on her makeupless face.

<< Happy birthday, Allison. >> said Patrick, finally giving her that hug she had been looking for in the first place.

<< Mom, the cake, the cake! >> shouted Claire, excited, pointing at the table she still couldn’t reach by herself.

<< We found the recipe in an old interview of yours, and Claire here thought it was beautiful. >> Patrick explained.

But his words dropped in the background, as if he had been far away. Allison was staring at the cake. The scent of chocolate and cinnamon filled the air, the strawberries and the whipped cream followed a decoration pattern on seven different slices, each covered by quite an abundance of sparkling pink glitters, and everything was framed by Five’s stupid marshmallows.

<< Mom are you crying? >>

A worried frown had appeared on Claire’s perfect little face. Allison hurriedly shook her head and smiled.

<< No, honey, I’m just very happy. >> she said catching instinctively a tear before it could ruin her non-existent makeup. << It’s just like my mom did it. >>

<< Well, Claire insisted on adding some extra glitters… >>

Allison could help a wet snort of a laughter, drying her eyes again.

<< It’s beautiful. It’s even better than Mom’s. >>

Claire smiled happily.

<< And now the gifts! >> she shouted again, rushing towards the living room where boxes of every size piled up in three different heaps.

Patrick dished three of the slices and handed her hers.

Allison took her eyes off of the old magazine.

<< Where did you even find this? >> she said leafing through the old rusty pages. << It must be like ten years or more… >>

Her eyes briefly caught a glimpse of Five and Ben smiling from a group photo and hurried on.

<< It apparently was in a flea market. Someone from merchandising found it. >> he said shrugging and heading to the living room after their hurricane of a daughter. << You’d be surprised of how much people could pay for something like that. True collectionists rates. >>

Allison gave a last glance at the old magazine. She didn’t even remember this particular interview. Must have been one of the first Dad allowed, when people had begun to ask more than his stern explanations on how the world apparently needed heroes to save it.

<< Mooom! >> Claire shriek came through the hall.

Allison put the old thing down and smiled.

It was going to be a long day.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay people. This was supposed to be Five’s turn, but I have his chapter halfway down in my collapsed laptop and I’m afraid it’s going to take a while before I can retrieve it - there’s also a slight possibility that I have lost it all.  
> I am currently writing from my tablet, which I find painfully difficult, so if you should spot some mistake please let me know, but judge me with mercy just this once.
> 
> See you as soon as possible,  
> M.


	6. Number Five

_Hunting high and low_

_To seek revenge_

_Brand new moral code_

_Got made reluctant renegade_

The days were getting shorter and colder.

Five opened his eyes and found himself in the darkness, panting out of breath. It had been just a dream. Again.

A shiver ran down his spine and he forced himself to get up, jerking another void and meaningless day into existence.

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he rummaged his backpack for leftovers with the other, then grabbed a torch and a pen to tick another day out of the calendar. The dried-up cookie he was about to bite stopped in mid-air.

It was the first of October. It was their birthday. No, that was not correct. Not anymore. It was _his_ birthday, now. Just his.

The cookie cracked in his fingers and fell on the dusty floor in crumbles. He cursed and obviously all that racket woke Dolores up. She had always been a light sleeper.

<< Sorry. >> he apologized. << It’s still early, get back to sleep. >>

She glared at him, probably sniffing something already.

Five couldn’t stop wondering if she had some telepathic abilities of some sort. But that was stupid. Only he and his siblings had powers, he knew that much. Not even all of them. Well, it didn’t matter anymore, anyway. Now it was just him.

<< No, there’s nothing wrong. >> he replied briskly. _Too_ briskly, he realized too soon. << Okay, it’s just... Well, let’s say today I turn fourteen, alright? I just hadn’t realized, that’s all. >>

When he found the courage to look back at Dolores, her lips were slightly puckered in a gentle smirk.

Five relaxed his shoulders, noticing just then they had tightened up.

<< Yeah, I guess... I guess we could. >> he conceded. << It’s not like... We never really celebrated, back home. Apart for the cake, but... >>

He found Dolores’ surprise to this revelation endearing.

<< We were a weird family, I guess. >>

He smiled bitterly at the sudden memory of Diego and Luther battling over the leftovers of Allison’s slice of cake, the hissing sound of knives flying in the kitchen and Klaus’ laughter on the background. It had been little more than a year to him. Just a few months since he had buried their grown-up corpses in the rubble, their adult faces bearing just a slight resemblance of the faces he used to know.

With their surprised eyes open forever and staring at him. Looking almost like strangers.

He shook his head, letting these thoughts drop away from his brain. It was only Dolores’ eyes staring at him, now. Only the present mattered, for the boy who couldn’t travel back to the past.

His siblings had been fourteen already, after all. And they had probably celebrated without him, just six slices on the plate instead of seven, no marshmallows on the side. He didn’t mind. Life must go on.

_Leaving empty souls_

_When he avenged_

_Evil spirits flowed_

_He drank blood like lemonade_

He washed away the blood smeared all over his face and decided once for all that cutting away his beard was definitely more practical. The moustache rarely got involved, so it could stay. His newly shaved face examined itself thoroughly in the mirror and decided it could work.

He dried it up with the white towel courtesy of the hotel. They always had to be white, he had already had the chance to notice countless times. So illogical. Even if it hadn’t been blood, there were so many things that leave stains. Oh well, that was none of his business. He wasn’t planning to stay any longer. The job was done, he was free to go back to his lovely home in the rubble of the apocalypse.

He changed his shirt, put on a new blazer, stepped past the corpse whose blood had begun drying on the carpet, and grabbed his black suitcase. At the entrance, he nodded amicably to the porter as he had always done in the last week and stepped out of the hotel. In about an hour the maid would start her cleaning round and find the corpse in his room. He had just enough time for a good coffee.

He strolled down the street, the black suitcase swinging in his hand, and stopped in his favourite cafe. No need to place an order, a steaming cup and a newspaper were promptly placed in front of him as soon as he got comfortable on his chair. A little digit on the first page caught his attention.

<< I’m sorry. >> he stopped the waiter. << Do you happen to have some sort of chocolate cake, by any chance? >>

<< Sir, we are quite proud of our dessert’s selection, if you have any... >>

<< Anything with a jam layer, pink glitters, cinnamon flavour, and strawberries and whipped cream on top? >> the elegant old man said with a surprisingly straight face. << And maybe marshmallows on the side? >>

The waiter didn’t dare smile.

<< I’m afraid not. >>

<< I see. >> the man’s face showed no emotion. << Just the coffee, then. >>

Five opened the newspaper wide and waited for the waiter to get far enough. Only then he slipped a battered old book full of notes out of his pocket. He checked his scribbling once again. He was so close, now.

He was fifty-four.

They never got to celebrate their fifty-fourth birthday. No jam filling, no whipped cream, no strawberries, no pink glitters, no cinnamon, no chocolate. No cake at all. Just the marshmallows on the side. And he had never even really asked for that.

He noticed a drop of blood on his trousers. The man he had just killed had done nothing to deserve that. John Brighton, a modest clerk about to get married. Too bad his wedding would have got in the way of history.

Five shook his head, letting these thoughts drop away from his brain, and took a good sip of his coffee.

The present didn’t matter. Whatever the Commission asked of him, he would take it. It was just something he had to do in order to get back. What’s a few lives in comparison with the apocalypse?

He needed to stop to buy a new pair of trousers. These were getting old, anyway. He had time enough, and he really didn’t mind. He was not one of those new agents cowering after the job was done. He could keep his shit together. He had a far greater mission to accomplish, after all.

He finished his coffee and left the money on the table.

No matter what, life must go on.


	7. Feels like Heaven

_"That must have been weird."_

_"You have no idea. No birthday boy, no birthday girl, just birthday kids._ _I mean, can you imagine sharing your birthday with six world-famous assholes all know they're better than you?"_

He shook the can of whipped cream and aimed carefully at the top of the cake, one eye on the battered magazine to follow the exact same pattern. He circled around the strawberry, then moved on to the centre, an elegant movement of the wrist, and it was done. He repeated the same process for each slice, then looked at his creation. It was perfect. He had always been crafty. It looked almost exactly like the cake in the picture.

He picked the magazine up again and kept reading.

_‘Mom has always given us one hat paper each, each of our favourite colour.’_

_‘And what colour is yours, Allison?’_

_‘It used to be pink, when I was a child. But I think it’s getting ridiculous now that I’m thirteen, so it’s usually Mom the one that wears it.’_

He considered it for a second. He didn’t mind wearing one. He had never done it, after all. Dad didn’t like to celebrate. He didn’t feel too old to try for once. And after all, the others did it. Luther, the strong Number One, did it. And Number Six, the Horror. Even Diego, despite his usual recalcitrance towards the group traditions, did it. Allison had always felt a bit too dignified for his tastes.

Yellow. Yellow was his colour. He had managed to snatch out a clean paper placemat from the diner where he usually had lunch after school and had arranged it in the shape of a cone, with a little string to keep it up on his head. He wore it with pride.

He brought the big cake on the table and emptied a whole marshmallow packet on the sides. Dad would spend all night at the pub, so he had time enough to celebrate. 

He had put on his cardboard uniform too, the one he was planning to wear the day he would rejoin with his siblings, the day he would finally walk into the Academy, the day he would become the eighth Hargreeves. 

He looked at his own reflection in the oven door and smiled.

<< Happy special day to our special boys and girls! >> he quoted, holding the knife over the cake.

Then he cut it in two halves, then four, then eight slices, each with its own strawberry and its own cream decoration in it. Eight. Looked much better than seven. 

He beamed a smile at the action figures scattered all over the table, the faces of his brothers and sisters smiled back from all the pages he had hanged around the room. He had even managed to find a rare photo of Vanya, little Number Seven, even though he couldn’t find any in which she would look as happy as the others. She was frowning and clenching her violin as if someone could take it away from her any moment. He smiled at her the most. One day they would find their powers together, and they would be great, he was sure of that.

It was the 1st of October and it was his birthday. No, their birthday. And for the first time he wasn’t feeling alone.

It felt like heaven.


End file.
